


Do you remember when... (you were always my mission)

by VeronicaFerCard



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovery, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, implied sam wilson/maria hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaFerCard/pseuds/VeronicaFerCard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I remember praying I’d be enough to keep you safe.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do you remember when... (you were always my mission)

He had been observing Captain America – Rogers, he reminded himself – for almost a month now. The man had quite a boring life despite his unusual set of friends.  He even took time to spy on Rogers’ closest friend, Wilson. Another dead end. When they weren’t investigating _him_ , or doing something else together; Wilson could be found either at his meetings with other war veterans or trying to woo the S.H.I.L.D. agent, Hill-something. Either way, it didn’t help him build an accurate image for the man he saved from drowning.

Not until the day he noticed that something wasn’t right. It was supposed to be a game night, when Rogers and Wilson would order pizza and drink beer until 2a.m., whatever game they were watching long gone by then and the conversation would gravitate towards him again. This night though… Wilson was pacing in front of the television, blocking the vision of whoever was lying on the couch. And really, there was no surprise to who that was.

Although, he couldn’t get a visual of Rogers’ face from the rooftop he where he was hiding, the worried expression on Wilson’s face was enough to set all kinds of alarms inside his mind. It was the same feeling he had that day, when Rogers’ unconscious body hit the water. He felt like he was failing his mission again; but not the one Pierce gave him, it was a much, much older mission. The mission he was given so long ago it felt like he was born for it: to keep Steve Rogers alive.

*

“Leave,” was his choice of greetings when Sam Wilson opened the door of Rogers’ apartment.

Wilson stared at him for almost a full minute before turning his back to address Rogers. They had some sort of silent conversation which ended with a frustrated sigh from Wilson when he stepped aside for him to enter, and Rogers saying “It’ okay, Sam. I’m sure, Bucky’s here to help.”

He heard the soft click of the door closing behind him when Wilson left, but his attention was on the man on the couch. It looked like Rogers was blushing, but no, that wasn’t it. Rogers was sweating, the color on his face wasn’t from embarrassment.

Suddenly he felt something cold at the base of his stomach. He knew that image, he had seen it more times than he ever wanted to; though the Rogers he associated with that image was a much smaller one. It still left him with a sense of dread.

He approached the couch, reaching with his left hand – instinct, it was the closest to Rogers’ face – and though _he_ couldn’t feel anything, the cold metal made Rogers flinch. He retrieved his hand, mumbling an apology while using his right hand to check on Rogers’ temperature. Too hot. Rogers needed a cold shower; they would need Wilson for that. Just thinking about cold made him shiver and not for the reasons a normal person would. Medication then; but what? Rogers hadn’t needed any medications since the serum; he read that at the museum. He read a lot of things at the museum, enough for him to know this whole scenario was wrong. 

All this time Rogers just looked at him. He squinted down at Rogers until the captain felt uncomfortable under his gaze and shifted on the sofa. “Think I’ll survive?” Rogers offered him a smile as fake as his fever.

“You can’t get sick,” he stated, tugging behind his ear a lock of hair that had escaped his loose ponytail.

“Is why I asked if I’d survive,” this time his smile was more genuine. “Sorry I lied to you, I didn’t know how else to get your attention. It was this or joining you at the rooftop with some pizza.” Rogers pushed the covers off but didn’t sit up, “Sam’s idea, that one.”

“You knew I was watching.” He was getting careless.

“Yeah, kinda caught on that last week.” Not so careless, then.

“How did you fake this?”

Rogers’ face got even redder; he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I, uh… there’s a heater under the couch?” A sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Do you mind if I get up now? I think I burned my bum.”

He shook his head in disbelief as Rogers got up from the couch, reaching a hand under it and retrieving a small metal box with the name Stark written on the top.

_Was this man even real?_

Oh, but Rogers was real alright. He might not be entirely sure of who he is now, or of who had been Bucky Barnes. But the man in front of him… this ridiculous stunt Rogers pulled just to get his attention… _that_ he knew. There were memories buried so deep inside his mind no one could reach to take it away. Taking care of a small and sick Steve Rogers was one of them.

But this Steve Rogers didn’t need him; he turned to leave but Rogers spoke before he could get to the door. “Please, stay.”

He turned again; the expression on Rogers’ face resembled a kicked puppy. And that was another one of his hidden memories. Rogers was a manipulative bastard.

“You are a terrible person.” He felt like he should have finished that sentence with the word _punk_ but the moment was gone when Rogers opened his mouth again to ask if he wanted to sit on the couch next to him. He declined, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “You sweat all over it.” He turned his nose in disgust.

“Suit yourself.” Rogers shrugged. He seemed relaxed; too relaxed for someone with an assassin on their living room. Very little common sense and no self-preservation instincts, he couldn’t pinpoint if that was an old memory or something he picked from the day Rogers dropped his shield from the helicarrier. “Do you remember-”

“I don’t remember much.” He said before Rogers could finish whatever question he was about to ask. He didn’t want to hurt Rogers in any way. It was one of the few things he was sure these days, that hurting Steve Rogers was wrong, and of all the unspeakable things the Winter Soldier did, that was the one thing he could not stand, it made him feel sick to his stomach to think that he had almost killed this man.

“That’s okay; we’ll work on that.” Rogers gave him a reassuring smile. “Together.”

An optimistic despite all things; Rogers was a puzzle he once knew how to put together.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, he wanted to feel as sure as Rogers did, but he didn’t know how to respond to that. “You are a terrible person,” he repeated.

“So you said.”

“You lied to the army,” he said, looking up and Rogers nodded. He continued, listing all that he could grasp from his fucked up brain. “You got into a lot of fights, and you didn’t know how to back down from ‘em.” He shook his head. “It’s a wonder you kept all your teeth.” He heard a soft chuckle from Rogers. “Do you remember when you drew all the bullies from school wearing dresses, and you put that drawing where the whole school could see.”

This time Rogers laughed out loud, he couldn’t help but to smile too; it felt weird, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done it.

“Did you have a death wish?”

Rogers ignored his question. “I can’t believe you remember _that_!  We were what? Twelve or something… Good thing you never left my side, back them.” Rogers cleared his throat. “Anyway, that doesn’t make me a bad person, they had it coming, right?”

“Did you know it was a trigger?” At Rogers puzzled look to his sudden change of subject he reformulated the question. “Did you know your sickness was a trigger to my memories?”

“I suppose so. Didn’t want to worry you, though,” Rogers made a sad face. “I’m sorry, Buck; it wasn’t my intention to make you feel bad.”

“‘S okay, punk,” he mumbled, not sure if he wanted Rogers to hear him. His chest felt heavy and his eyes burned, he was looking down at his hands.

“What else do you remember?” Rogers asked in a quiet whisper.

“Flashes. A train. You in that silly costume. You having trouble breathing. Praying for you to live.” He took a deep breath, gathering the courage to look at Rogers’ eyes. “I remember praying I’d be enough to keep you safe.”

“You were.” And the voice was so low he wasn’t sure if Rogers had actually said it.

He shook his head. “‘Till I wasn’t.”

They stared at each other for a long moment until he found his voice again.

“I’m not Bucky anymore, I don’t know if I can be him again,” he said without facing Rogers.

“Hey.” Rogers took his right hand, waiting until he looked up to continue, “you can be whoever you want.”

“But you want Barnes!”

“I want you to find the peace and happiness you deserve.” Rogers squeezed his hand gently. “Don’t do this for me, this is about you, Buck. Do you even want me to call you Bucky?”

And that was such a foreign concept to him he had to laugh. All his actions were either orders to fulfill or instincts. But Rogers didn’t know that, and anyway he liked the way Rogers addressed him.

“You can call me Bucky; to anyone else Barnes or James will do just fine.” He was almost expecting Rogers to laugh at him, and say that he didn’t get a choice. It made his eyes burn again, he remembered a man who used to call him his dog.

“Bucky, you okay?” And this time he couldn’t find his voice so he just shook his head instead, trying to avoid Rogers’ gaze. “Can I hug you?” He gave a faint nod and then he was being pulled from the ground and enveloped in Rogers’ huge arms. He hid his face in the crock of Steve’s - because that man wasn’t a stranger, and Rogers felt too formal now – neck, and there was no way to avoid his tears from spilling out. He felt self-conscious when he put his arms around Steve’s middle, but he did it anyway.

When he finally looked up from Steve’s shoulder something behind the couch caught his attention. “You found your shield.”

“Sam did.” Steve sniffed as they separated from each other, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “It was by my bed when I woke up at the hospital.”

He winced at those words. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what? You saved me!”

“I shot you first.”

Steve sighed but didn’t say anything for some time.

“You can’t be comfortable at that floor.”

“I have been sleeping inside a fridge for as long as I can remember.” Steve made a grim expression at that. “Your floor is luxury.”  He tried to smile to take that expression from Steve’s face. It worked.

“Wait until you see the bed.” And Steve’s smile was much better than his. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded.

“You said you don’t know who you are… Who am I to you?”

“My mission.” Steve’s face fell at that but he continued before Rogers could say anything. “You were always my mission. First to save, then to kill… and now I guess…” He scratched at the stubble on his cheek. “Guess now I’m yours. You’re who I chose to save me.”

Steve was crying again and so was he, but Steve didn’t look so sad anymore. And for the first time in so many years Bucky felt like he was finally coming home.


End file.
